Strawberry Memories
by Ennui Enigma
Summary: Sherlock reads a few fan fiction stories. Set during the hiatus.


**A/N: A challenge issued in Mrs Hudson's Kitchen forum asked folks to write a story utilising the prompt, "Strawberries and whipped cream". Several lovely writers from the kitchen met the challenge with their usual brilliance and creativity. Here's a little fic where Sherlock reads his fan stories. Please do read the original stories by the authors, AlessNox, Johnsarmylady, MapleLeafCameo, and Patemalah21.**

Dark truffle curls flopped angrily over his forehead and threatened to join forces with eyebrows that furrowed in irritation, matching the intense, compressed lips of the fugitive detective staring at the screen on his cracked laptop. His eyes, illuminated like ominous thunderclouds, churned with an eerie incessant variation of grey hues that heralded the onslaught of a severe weather storm. Intense. Infinite. Impenetrable. "Idiots!" he muttered. He rapidly skimmed through the merry messages that glaringly contrasted against his dark intimidating pupils.

Since his disappearance almost three years ago, life had become a tenuous game for survival. The hunted against the hunter. His investigations made him vulnerable to a multitude of ravenous enemies. The art of being invisible had become second nature to him. No longer clothed in his black swirling coattails and ever-constant blue scarf for companion, now he blended into his environment in much lighter attire. Although he had not gone so far as to adopt the traditional religion of his hideout, his chronic insomnia and habitual steepled hands (his 'thinking pose') were well suited to local cultural customs. No matter his outward façade, inwardly he was still a foreigner, far from his heart and home.

Today his defences were down and loneliness seeped through the cracks in his armour of logic like smoke tendrils infiltrating his humanity, those parts of him that he tried to deny existed, bits of him that he told himself had died with the fall.

Words, mere letters on the computer screen, came alive despite the haste in which he scanned the narratives online.

_Strawberries. Whipped Cream_. He pressed his inner 'ignore' button several times without success. Forbidden memories catapulted themselves into his consciousness.

_'John, pick up a carton of strawberries.' SH_

_'Strawberries? Oh, okay - be home in about half an hour - JW'_

_'Wait - are you making dinner? - JW'_

_'No. I don't make dinner, John. You make dinner.' SH_

_'And whip cream.' SH_

_'The kind that sprays.' SH_ (1)

His thin lips curved upward momentarily as he recalled those teasing text messages. His smile remained several more seconds while he re-tasted that evening with John. Then it melted. His blinked and shook his head, tossing out the sentiment that threatened to overwhelm his heart.

His pale slender fingers scrolled down the pages on his computer. A rabble of street noises, car horns, shouts, and jarring reggae music drifted through the partially open window of his current residence. His ears, attuned to any disturbance in the everyday rhythm, kept a wary surveillance. It was impossible to fully rest when one was both the hunter and the prey.

Suddenly, his eyes alerted him to another key prompt.

Too late. His brain registered the words before he could divert his attention. It was illogical to think of succulent strawberries in his present desolation. Nevertheless a torrent of laughter reached out and grabbed him, yanking him down as he registered the lines:

_"I'm not eating strawberries out of a skull."_

_"Why ever not John?"_

_Sherlock dished a spoonful of strawberries and cream out of the left eye socket. "Come John, just give it a taste. (2)"_

"Hell! He missed those days in Baker Street. He and John had laughed for hours afterward when Mrs Hudson walked in on them. A vacant, far away expression flooded his face and the fugitive's eyes swam in a sea of saltiness. He'd lost so much more than he'd originally calculated on that fateful day he disappeared. Vaguely, he wondered where his skull was now.

Dragging himself out of the rushing waters of the past, he stared, motionless, inert, letting the feelings wash over and through him. Turning his gaze toward the small grimy window he noticed that the sun had set and a single bright star twinkled in the sky, daring to shine above the competition of the lights of the city.

A few more minutes. He would not be staying here tonight. He hurried his pace to finish scanning all his electronic communication.

He stopped. How obscure - an article with Mycroft, his older brother, eating strawberries?!

_This was how strawberries were supposed to taste! He savoured the tart yet sweet sensations that filled his mouth. Pouring himself a glass of champagne, he sat down to enjoy his Jubilee berries (3)._

In spite of himself, Sherlock couldn't contain the tiny smirk that flitted across his features when he read about his brother's ritual. Yes, a perfect description of his poised and precise sibling. It had not always been that way though.

He closed his eyes and felt himself wrapped in the dizzying sunshine of a spring day in the strawberry fields. The scent of earthy soil, country air, and sweet strawberry juice filled his olfactory sense. In the distance, he heard the happy chatter of other harvesters and the giggling as he gleefully ate the fruit he was supposed to be gathering from the plants. "There's more strawberry on your face than in your basket!" his mother had exclaimed, a smile lurking behind her bemused expression.

Mmm. Fresh strawberries and cream. He tasted the lavish combination of sticky sweetness and cool creamy goodness. Strawberry season certainly had its benefits.

Dark lashes fluttered open and his eyes traced themselves back to the present. Somewhere during his reverie, a salty tear had meandered unbidden down his cheek. "Sentiment," he grumbled to himself as he wiped his face with the loose sleeve of his garment. "Who needs such memories? They only interfere with logic and make a person miserable."

He straightened his back and blinked away any remaining thoughts on the past. He closed the lid on his laptop with a resolute gesture. Another life. Another time. It seemed like another world. Packing away his belongings along with his memories, he faded into the deepening night.

1). Johnsarmylady. _Text In The City_. Ch 3 "Strawberries and Cream" (co-authored with MapleLeafCameo)

2). AlessNox. _My Jeeves_, Chapter 4 "Strawberries and Whipped cream"

3). Patemalah21 _The Ritual_


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